


A Heart of Star

by Aloysia_Virgata



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 18:10:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12989661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloysia_Virgata/pseuds/Aloysia_Virgata
Summary: Same universe as my fic Dryad. A Father’s Day inspired series of snapshots of William’s life from infancy through 18.





	A Heart of Star

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @kateyes224, who was feeling unwell. The title is from _my father moved through dooms of love_ by e.e. cummings.

I. 

Mulder holds William upright, peachy head propped against the towel on his bare shoulder. Scully left two bottles of pumped milk and a spritz of perfume in her wake when she sailed out the door an hour ago to have lunch with Monica.

William belches loudly, emitting a thin stream of spit-up onto the towel.

“Attaboy,” his father says.

William gurgles, then tries to cram his fist into his mouth.

Mulder secures the baby into his bouncer seat on the dining room table, passing him a rubber duck to gnaw on. He then spreads his files out across the table, an assortment of highlighters next to him in a cup. He taps his chin with a pencil.

“Your mother says this is the result of clever editing, but I think we have pretty clear evidence of a ghostly apparition. There’s no sign of the film being altered. I mean, look at this. Mama is out of her mind.” Mulder holds a series of stills up for William to peruse.

“Ma,” yells William, reaching for the paper. “Mamamamamama!”

Mulder scowls. “I can’t believe you’re taking her side.” 

 

II. 

“Don’t do anything weird,” William begs, petting Scorn between her ears. “Pretend you’re a normal FBI agent. First grade is real school, Dad. It’s not like kindergarten. We gotta be professional.”

Mulder affects a wounded air. “I’m normal.”

Scully, at the breakfast bar, sputters out a mouthful of coffee.

William laughs, and sends a flurry of paper napkins across the kitchen to her.

“William!” she snaps, while using them to mop up the mess.

He kicks the baseboard. “Sorry.”

Mulder punches him lightly in the shoulder. “How about you pretending you’re normal, hmmm?”

William gives him a baleful look. “You’re hurting my self esteem.”

Mulder snorts. “Your self esteem is perfectly healthy, I assure you. In my expert opinion.” He checks his watch. “We need to get going so we can get our booth set up, okay? We’re gonna nail this Career Day thing.”

William shrugs his backpack on, grabs his lunchbox from the counter and slips it over his wrist. “Do you have everything in your car? Your business cards? And the cookies? And the brochures? And the cookies?”

“I’ve got everything, I promise.” Mulder kneels down to straighten William’s tie. “You look sharp, kiddo.”

William takes his father’s face in his small hands, lunchbox bumping Mulder’s chest. “Remember what we discussed.”

Mulder nods solemnly. “Not every kid has your maturity and I need to consider my audience.”

“Good,” William says. “You’re going to make me proud.”

III.

William tears in through the kitchen door, sobbing. Something is cupped in his hands. 

Mulder jumps up and runs to his his son, the boy sticky-faced and green-kneed. “William, what happened? Are you okay?”

William cries harder, holds his hands up to his father’s face.

Mulder inspects the object and sees a tiny wild rabbit, half crushed and bleeding from the nose and mouth. “Oh, buddy,” he breathes. “I don’t think there’s much we can do for him.”

His son wails. “You have to, you have to fix him. I accidentally ran over him when I was coming into third, Miranda was in the outfield and she’s so fast and I didn’t see him.” He gulps in lungfuls of air, trying to calm himself.

Mulder spreads a tea towel on the counter, and William lays the little animal down. It is panting shallowly, eyes glazing over. The kindest thing to do would be to break its neck.

“Please,” William begs, staring back and forth between his father and the rabbit. “Call Mom, she’ll know what do.”

“She’s a pathologist, not a vet. William, I’m sorry, but-”

“NO!” William shouts. “I did this, we have to fix it!” He pushes his father out of the way and cups his hands in a dome over the rabbit. He closes his eyes, concentrating.

“What are you-”

“Shhh!” William’s brow furrows, sweat running down his face. He starts to tremble, whispering to himself. Blood drips from his nose, dribbles from the corner of his mouth.

Mulder grabs his son and gets an elbow to the ribs for his trouble. He wraps his arms around William, who kicks and yells. Blood smears across his face, his arm, as he thrashes.

They both freeze when they see the rabbit. It is crouched on its tiny haunches, ears and whiskers twitching. Its eyes are bright.

“I fixed it,” William says, beaming. He takes the animal in his hands, cooing at it as he strokes the soft head with his forefinger. He carries it outside.

 

IV.

They’re on their backs under the car, grimy and sweaty. The plastic sheeting crinkles beneath them. 

“So look,” Mulder says, pointing just above their heads. “You want to use a box-end wrench on the drain plug, not an adjustable one.”

“Remind me why I need to do this again?”

Mulder feels around for the rubber mallet. “Because you’ll be driving in a year and you should know how to change your own oil. Saves a lot of money.”

William considers this. “Your parents were rich and paid for Oxford and grad school. They had three houses. How much money did you need to save?”

His father coughs. “Never mind that. It’s a good skill. Pass me that funnel over there.”

William grins. “Mom taught you how to do this, didn’t she? And you thought it would make some nice male bonding.” He passes his father the funnel.

“William?” 

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Shut up.”

V.

William follows behind his father, self conscious among the bustle of police and federal agents, some of whom he has known most of his life. The spring morning is warm, but not uncomfortably so. He’s a newly minted adult, and reminds himself not to pull at his suit. His mother is already up ahead, ducking below the police tape. William swallows hard.

Director Skinner walks over to them with long strides. “Good morning,” he says, shaking their hands. “You ready, William?”

He nods. “Yes, sir.” It is strange to call his godfather sir, despite years of hearing his parents doing so.

“Okay. Well, your mother is in charge of the body. I don’t know what your comfort level is, but that’s what she’s going to be dealing with. I got the sense you’d primarily be assisting your father, taking notes and making observations.”

Mulder confirms this. “Thanks for letting him come along.”

“My pleasure. I’ll see you back over there in a few.” He leaves them, joining Scully next to the Congresswoman’s body.

William pushes his sunglasses back up his nose. “I’m ready.”

“What do you need to do first?”

“Sign in on the crime scene log. Then take notes while you ask questions. Follow you while you walk the grid.”

Mulder gives him a thumbs up. “Good man. What else?”

“Um. Don’t touch anything. Always wear gloves. Make sure any evidence gets logged properly. Be useful but not disruptive.”

“Let’s go, then. Snap on that latex.”

They cross over to the cordoned off area, William proud of the deference his father is shown, eager to take notes in his leather folio. He looks away from his mother, from the bloody thing she is crouched over. He feels a stronger connection to his father’s path, his search for recondite truths. He is, after all, a recondite truth himself.


End file.
